I can't sleep.
All night, I toss and turn in my narrow bed, wide-eyed and restless, heart pounding with nervous energy. The ceiling above me looks cracked and sad, but all I can think about is how different my life will be. I'm going to work in an actual office. An internship. A real corporate end. Respectable. Duckknight Enterprises. Even just the name makes my skin buzz.
When morning finally comes, I bolt upright, still buzzing with adrenaline until I open my closet.
Nothing.
A sea of nothing: stretched-out college sweaters, a tank top with a paint stain (thanks, Liam), a pair of jeans with a tear near the thigh, and one black pencil skirt that's slightly too big and sags at the waist. I dig deeper until I find a white blouse. It's limp and has lost any kind of shape, but it doesn't have holes, so that's a win.
I shove it on and cinch the skirt with a safety pin. My only pair of office-appropriate heels has a small scuff, and the right one clicks louder than the left, but I can't afford to care. I give my face a quick splash of water and use my fingers to tame the frizz in my hair.
I glance at myself in the mirror.
Not impressive, but not homeless. That'll have to do.
Liam is still half-asleep on the couch when I grab my folder of documents and walk into the room. He looks up, yawning, and blinks at me.
"You look… serious," he mutters.
"I am serious," I say, adjusting the collar of my blouse. "This is my first real opportunity. It's not just some job. It's Duckknight Enterprises."
He smiles lazily and gets up to grab his keys. "Alright, boss lady. Let's go."
We hop onto his motorcycle and speed off toward midtown. The clouds hang thick above us, the city's mood heavy with humidity and tension. I clutch the back of Liam's jacket, thinking through everything I've rehearsed.
But halfway there, the sky cracks open.
Rain. Not a drizzle a full-on downpour.
"Are you kidding me?!" I shout against the wind. "Goddammit! Great way to start my day! Wow."
My blouse goes from stiff to soaked in seconds. The thin fabric clings to my skin, turning translucent and freezing cold. My skirt sags even more now that it's wet, and I can smell the mildew stench of my apartment clothes starting to come alive in the damp air.
By the time we reach the sleek entrance of Blackwood Tower, I look like a drowned, wrinkled rat. Water drips from my sleeves. My hair sticks to my cheeks in frizzy, damp strands. My heels squeak when I step onto the sidewalk.
Liam frowns. "You want me to wait for you?"
I shake my head. "No. I'm fine. Thanks."
I'm not fine, not even close. But I can't let that stop me.
I turn toward the enormous glass building rising into the sky. Fifty-two floors of money, I think grimly. People rush past me in tailored suits, leather shoes, and designer bags Not one of them looks remotely wet. A woman passes me in six-inch heels, perfectly dry under a compact umbrella, sipping coffee and talking through her AirPods like she runs the entire city.
I step through the revolving doors and into the lobby and immediately regret everything.
It's like stepping into another world. One where the air feels cleaner. Where the marble floors sparkle and the lighting makes everyone look like they belong in a luxury magazine ad. Receptionists in matching uniforms type efficiently. Men in custom suits walk with sharp precision, and women in heels taller than mine glide across the floor with poise and purpose.
I hug my folder closer to my chest, suddenly aware of how I must look water-stained, frizzy, shoes squeaking like a broken toy.
I approach the main desk. The receptionist barely glances at me before her eyes skim downward.
"Yes?" she asks with a practiced tone of disinterest.
"I'm… Ava Carter. Here for the ten o'clock internship interview?"
She clicks around on her screen with manicured fingers. "Fifty-second floor. Elevators on the right."
I mumble a thank you and shuffle toward the elevators. I avoid eye contact with everyone, each second reminding me that I don't belong here.
The elevator walls are lined with brushed steel. My reflection is hard to ignore. The blouse clings uncomfortably, and I can see the outline of my bra. My skirt sags just a little lower now, and my hair has completely given up. I decide to fully rebel.
My heart pounds. This is just the beginning. Keep going.
When the doors open, I'm hit by the scent of expensive perfume and something else… power. Real power. This floor looks even more refined. Sleek offices with glass walls. Abstract art hangs under soft lighting. Every person walking by looks… immaculate. Not just well-dressed flawless.
I clutch my folder tighter and try to keep my eyes forward.
A woman in a tailored black suit approaches me. "Ava Carter?"
"Yes," I reply, throat dry.
"This way."
She leads me through the hallway. We pass doors with names etched in gold plaques. I hear snippets of business calls, clacking keyboards, and low voices speaking in terms I don't understand. Every person I see looks like they've never worried about rent a day in their life.
I feel like a charity case.
When we reach a sleek, minimalist door at the far end of the hallway, the woman pauses.
"You'll be interviewed by two members of the executive team," she says. "Good luck."
I nod. My palms are sweaty. My shoes squelch faintly as I step forward.
I reach for the handle, exhale sharply, and open the door.